Down the San Marcos-with Marcus

 Ahhhhh-the Hill Country.  I have wondered aloud why every body doesn't live in the Hill Country.  More and more, though, nearly every body does.  To experience the beauty of the region you've got to get away from the crowds.  That means you either have access to a high fenced ranch, or you take a worthy craft and paddle down one of the gems of the Hill Country.  On this date, I had arranged to float the San Marcos with expert guide and canoeist Marcus.  I had fished with Marcus before, and had found him to be as pleasant, competent, and capable as a guy could be.  Seems he knew every tree, every plant, every fish, and every snake (including the little copperhead that I damn near stepped on-and Marcus probably did step on- at lunch.)  He knew where the fish would be, suggested areas to cast, flies to use, and styles of retrival.  Most importantly, he didn't complain when he had to rescue flies from tree tops, and didn't laugh at my sometimes competent casting. All in all, I had a great day, and I hope he did, too.

Up stream and downstream from the launching area.

If you find the sign that says Caldwell on one side and Guadalupe on the other, you'll be there.

First, you have to paddle under the bridge and navigate this dam.  This is Alvin, another well-known Hill Country fly fishing guide, deadlining his raft down a steep staircase.

One of the reasons for choosing the San Marcos, aside from the fact that it still has flowing water, was its' reputation as a fine spot to catch a Rio Grande Perch-this was my first ever, and I was able to scratch off another item from my bucket list.

Lots and lots of bass of various genetic makeup.  A few probably pure largemouth, lots of guadalupe-smallmouth hybrids, and a few that appeared to be spotted bass.  Who knows-certainly not me.

Hero shot of Marcus-he is my hero, after all.  He even tied a blood knot for me.

At the takeout.  He doesn't look like a guy who got up at five, drove for an hour, picked up his client, paddled nine miles, caught fish, tied knots, told stories, gave advice, cooked lunch, dodged a copperhead, took pictures, and showed me a grand time.  Thanks Marcus, for another great day.

www.guidesoftexas.com

Down the San Marcos-with Marcos

 Ahhhhh-the Hill Country.  I have wondered aloud why every body doesn't live in the Hill Country.  More and more, though, nearly every body does.  To experience the beauty of the region you've got to get away from the crowds.  That means you either have access to a high fenced ranch, or you take a worthy craft and paddle down one of the gems of the Hill Country.  On this date, I had arranged to float the San Marcos with expert guide and canoeist Marcos.  I had fished with Marcos before, and had found him to be as pleasant, competent, and capable as a guy could be.  Seems he knew every tree, every plant, every fish, and every snake (including the little copperhead that I damn near stepped on-and Marcos probably did step on- at lunch.)  He knew where the fish would be, suggested areas to cast, flies to use, and styles of retrival.  Most importantly, he didn't complain when he had to rescue flies from tree tops, and didn't laugh at my sometimes competent casting. All in all, I had a great day, and I hope he did, too.

Up stream and downstream from the launching area.

If you find the sign that says Caldwell on one sign and Guadalupe on the other, you'll be there.

First, you have to paddle under the bridge and navigate this dam.  This is Alvin, another well-known Hill Country fly fishing guide, deadlining his raft down a steep staircase.

One of the reasons for choosing the San Marcos, aside from the fact that it still has flowing water, was its' reputation as a fine spot to catch a Rio Grande Perch-this was my first ever, and I was able to scratch off another item from my bucket list.

Lots and lots of bass of various genetic makeup.  A few probably pure largemouth, lots of guadalupe-smallmouth hybrids, and a few that appeared to be spotted bass.  Who knows-certainly not me.

Hero shot of Marcos-he is my hero, after all.  He even tied a blood knot for me.

At the takeout.  He doesn't look like a guy who got up at five, drove for an hour, picked up his client, paddled nine miles, caught fish, tied knots, told stories, gave advice, cooked lunch, dodged a copperhead, took pictures, and showed me a grand time.  Thanks Marcos, for another great day.

www.guidesoftexas.com

Hagerman-A boy, a girl, a dog, and a bass.

Tam and Tuck and I had just completed a semi-brisk three mile jog up and back on the Meadow Ponds Trail, and decided to walk in on the Crawfish Pond across from the new Visitor Center at Hagerman.  Less than five hundred yards off the road, this little jewel gets amazingly little fishing pressure, and I have never visited her without getting a few bites.  This brief vignette features me catching a little bass, Tucker getting a kiss, and Tam serving as photographer.  The pier is about eight or ten feet above the water.

A Brazos Surprise

Memorial Day Weekend of 2011 saw the Brazos below PK blasted by 108 degree temps and 40+mph winds straight out of the south.  Not exactly idyllic conditions for fly fishing.  Nevertheless, since Tam and her fam had headed north to the casino at  Burkburnett,  I thought I'd give it a whirl.   I drove through the fire ravaged areas along Hiway 16, near the Hills Above PK.  Most of those houses were saved, but a considerable amount of pasture was torched.   To my surprise, the river was deserted.  And, furthering my surprise, there were fish to be caught.  None were large, but a couple of spotted bass pushed a pound or pound and a half.  Dozens of sunfish, not a single carp.  Then, right at dusk, I had made my way back up to the first big pool below the dam.  The wind had slacked to less than twenty, and I was able to limber up my casting stroke and bang out some longer casts.  These pics were snapped in the last fifteen minutes of fishing, and take a gander at the last fish.  Ten inches, on a yellow popping bug, in the Brazos River of Texas-a walleye.  (I had not caught a walleye since leaving Montana in 1987)  He was healthy, feisty, and released unharmed.  You never know what you will find in the Brazos.